


A Very Euron Christmas

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Christmas gift, Crack Fic, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, M/M, Roofies, and what a crack fic, but it's fun, good deeds, intended rape, like seriously cracky, pining boys, the crackiest I ever made, they're all OOC (I think)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-12 02:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16864831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: “Jon,” Euron drawls, rolling the syllable around his mouth with relish, tasting it. A good name to be cried out in the throes of orgasm.  Jon.“Delighted,” Jon mumbles, his beautiful face a grimace of indignation. No wonder, really, for Euron has started stroking his cock through his Santa trousers.





	A Very Euron Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [half_life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_life/gifts).



> Omg. Omg. XD
> 
> I swear I didn't think it'd take this path when I was talking to @half_life about a Euron Bad Santa thing...  
> But it is what it is and I hope one or two of you like the CRACKIEST THING EVER because that's what it is.
> 
> No one's acting like you'd think they would, all reactions are... somewhat out of it. And Theon is the most normal of them all. Ha.

His balls are itching. Euron curses inwardly. He’d give anything to be able to just stick his hand down his pants and really go for it, scratch the fuckers till they jiggle. But unfortunately it’s not possible, because in this very moment there’s a little girl sitting on his knee. 

“...and a pony - a real pony - and a Barbie house and…”

Oh shut up, Euron thinks. The fake beard is itching too and with a quick move he pulls it down and starts scratching his chin. Aah, the relief! The girl has stopped blabbering, she’s staring at him with wide eyes. 

“You’re not Santa!”

“I’m covering this mall for him.” Euron eyes her lazily. “He’s gotten very sick and has employed many people to do his job till he gets better.” He pauses, readjusting the beard. “Or dies.”

The girl shrieks, clapping her hands on her face, just like that ugly kid in that fucked up movie. Euron hates that one with a passion. He really wants to get a hold of those wannabe burglars, slap them silly, then teach them a thing or two. 

“Santa’s not going to die!”

The girl has jumped from Euron’s knee now, glaring daggers at him. Quite impressive, she can’t be more than five. He leans forward, looking her straight in the eye. 

“We’re all going to die, Missy. And if you don’t fuck off right now, you’ll be next.”

She wails, turns on her heel and storms off, screaming for her mummy.

Good luck with that, Euron thinks nastily. When mummy had parked her little angel here she’d been animatedly talking on the phone, then had vanished in the direction of the shoe store. And left the brat alone with a strange man in a Santa costume. Lucky her, he thinks grumpily, that he’s not into little girls. 

That girl is the last for now. The mall will close soon and there aren’t too many people around. So Euron shoves his hand down the front of his velvety red trousers and starts tugging at his balls with a satisfied grunt. 

And of course that’s the moment his nephew has to show up. Euron curses again, his bad luck, his alcohol intake, his love of risky bets, and Victarion’s stupid idea. It’s his mall, Vic’s, and the reason that Euron sits here dressed in red with that idiot hat and the pillow pot-belly and the idiot beard and the idiot stick-on shaggy white eyebrows, is the bet he lost against his brother.

The news has made it to every single family member still alive it seems, for here comes Theon, grinning at him with mirth. Sighing, Euron starts to remove his hand from down under - and cups his cock instead as it suddenly roars to life. There, two steps behind Theon, the most marvellous creature Euron has ever beheld has come through the mall doors. 

Black, shimmering hair curling around his head, long enough to fully bury your hands in, long enough to grip tightly while holding that head in place to fuck that full, pouty rose-bud mouth, dark, deep-set eyes in a soft-cheeked face with dark stubble - Euron can perfectly well imagine how it’d feel to rub his cock against that skin. 

He’s not tall, this feast on legs, probably just big enough to nestle his head in the hollow between Euron’s pecs. Slim built, hinting at a toned body beneath the figure-hugging coat he’s wearing, narrow waist, firm, jeans-clad legs - perfect to wrap around Euron when he takes him slow and deep--

“Greyjoy,” hisses the vision and for a moment Euron’s heart stops - until he realizes the boy means Theon. “Greyjoy, that Santa has a hard-on!”

Euron shudders at hearing his voice, low and husky, imagining how wonderful it’d sound in ecstasy, moaning his name. Theon shudders as well, Euron notes, but more from embarrassment than lust. With an unapologetic grin, Euron removes his hand from his cock. Theon facepalms, gesturing between them. 

“One of my crazy uncles - my flatmate Jon.”

“Jon,” Euron drawls, rolling the syllable around his mouth with relish, tasting it. A good name to be cried out in the throes of orgasm.  _ Jon. _

“Delighted,” Jon mumbles, his beautiful face a grimace of indignation. No wonder, really, for Euron has started stroking his cock through his Santa trousers. 

“Uncle, could you  _ please _ stop it?” Theon urges, desperate. “There are children here!”

Euron shrugs. He doesn’t care about children, the only interesting thing is the young man now staring at the bulge in his lap, seeming grudgingly impressed. Well, Euron can’t blame him. He’s decidedly above averagely built.

“I’ll be in the hampers store, Greyjoy,” Jon says now. “Get me when you’re done here, aye?”

Theon huffs in annoyance but nods and, after a last, disgusted look at Euron’s hand rubbing at his crotch, Jon turns and leaves toward another part of the mall. Euron looks after him, giving his cock a last, consoling squeeze, then sits upright. 

“Damn, nephew. That’s your flatmate?”

A sigh is the only answer he gets, and curiously Euron detects a hint of his own feelings in this sigh. Longing. Oh? Seems like little Theon has the hots for his pretty companion. He doesn’t blame him, Euron thinks.

“Are you fucking him?” he enquires, feigning innocence when Theon turns to him with a shocked look. “What? Come on, boy, a tasty little treat like that? Don’t tell me you’re not thinking of putting your cock between his perfect red lips.”

“Uncle, really,” Theon mutters. “Not everyone is a pervert like you. I mean, yeah, Jon’s hot, true. But he and I… let’s say we don’t have that great a relationship.”

“And how come,” Euron raises a slightly lopsided white eyebrow, “you live together then?”

“Accident,” Theon replies with a shrug. “It was my best friend Robb, his cousin Jon, and me. And then Robb moved in with his girlfriend and I was stuck with Snow.”

“Bet you’d rather be stuck  _ in _ him,” Euron leers. “Why the fuck haven’t you hit on him? You’re not exactly bad to look at.”

“Are you coming on to me, uncle?” Theon grins, raising both hands. “Sorry, no incest for me today. Or any day, really.”

Ha! Nice one. Euron can’t help but grin at his nephew’s sass. If he’s being honest, he rather likes Theon. The boy has spirit, albeit not as much as his sister. Very unlike Balon, their father. He’s definitely the least favourite of Euron’s, out of his brothers. 

“I should get going,” Theon interrupts his musings, turning to go. “See you at the family Christmas next week?”

“Aye,” Euron nods, his thoughts already rushing ahead. “Say… Does your lovely mate have a favourite drink?”

***

Jon sighs into his nearly empty pint. He really should go home after this. There’s that problem though, the reason Jon is out at a bar instead of being comfortable at home - Theon. Theon is home a lot these last couple months, instead of sleeping over at his various conquests’ places. He isn’t even going out that much anymore, and slowly but surely his continuous presence is starting to get to Jon. 

It’s way too nice. 

Ever since Robb moved out they’ve been forced to get along a lot better than they used to, and to Jon’s surprise Theon has turned out to be fun. And nice, when he lets his guard down. And - and here lies the real crux of Jon’s bad mood - Theon is really hot. 

Not that Jon hasn’t noticed before, Theon being objectively attractive. But there’s a huge difference between acknowledging someone’s hot while disliking them, and knowing someone is hot while actually starting to like them very much. Too much. 

Jon downs the rest of his beer. Now he’ll have to go home and scowl at Theon and pretend they’re still what they always have been - acquaintances at best, reluctant flatmates and totally disinterested in any of the things playing on repeat in Jon’s head. Like, kissing Theon. Or waking up next to Theon. Or getting fucked into next Tuesday by Theon. 

It gets harder every day. Especially with this new thing Theon is doing, like sitting on the couch next to him and rattling away throughout the movie they’re watching. Jon pretends to be annoyed by it. He loves it. 

And then he’ll be sitting way too close for Jon’s peace of mind, and shove him or pat Jon’s thigh at funny scenes, and finally fall asleep snuggled up against Jon’s side. It’s maddening, this cuddly side Theon has decided to reveal. 

Usually Jon spends an agonizing half hour debating with himself if he should just do it and kiss him, but then he always remembers reality - Theon’s definitely not into him, he just likes him now because Robb is gone and he needs a substitute - so Jon sighs and wriggles out from under Theon and goes to bed feeling sad and with an aching boner.

“Oi! Ground Control to Major Jon. Courtesy of the gentleman over there. You look like you could use it.”  

Surprised, Jon regards the glass that Edd, the bartender, has just put in front of him. It’s a whisky sour, his favourite, and he looks up at the guy Edd is pointing out as the giver. Tall, dark hair tied back in his neck, striking blue eyes and a wide mouth that seems familiar somehow. He looks to be in his end-thirties, but it’s hard to tell in the dim light of the bar. Jon raises his glass in thanks and receives a smile in return, enhancing the feeling of familiarity. 

Jon searches his head but comes up short. He’s sure he’d remember that guy if he’d seen him before - he’s very much Jon’s type. Handsome in a dark way, taller - not that that’s hard to find in a guy for Jon - and older than him. Older men are sexy - as long as they’re sexy, that is. 

Jon’s perfect age difference would be about five years older than him, just like Theon. This man over there surely has fifteen years on Jon, but he’s hot, so. And it’s nice getting a drink from a hot guy. So when the man gets up slowly - nice long legs, Jon notes - and comes over, Jon turns to greet him, resolutely shoving Theon out of his mind. Here’s a chance for at least getting laid.

“Thank you. Did you guess or ask Edd here about my favourite drink?” He holds out his hand. “I’m Jon.”

“Euron,” the man says and takes Jon’s hand, squeezing it slightly with a meaningful gaze before letting go and planting his behind on the barstool next to Jon. “I just knew it had to be whisky based.” He gives Jon’s glass a playful nudge. “Strong and delicious and beautiful - very much my impression of you.”

Jon tries to hide his blush by taking another sip from his drink. It is indeed pretty strong - although he’s only had a couple pints before, he’s starting to feel woozy. He glances up at this Euron guy, watching his lips stretch into a wide grin. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he asks, trying to place his sense of deja-vu. Where has he seen that grin before?

“Believe me, you’d know if we met before, my boy. Not something you’d ever forget.”

“Huh,” Jon says, draining the rest of his drink.  _ Boy _ . Right. He’s not going to call the guy Daddy, that’s for sure. He feels hot. The bar has started to sway, up and down, and his stomach feels queasy. “I think I need a glass of water. And maybe some fresh air.”

“Of course,” Euron says, one of two Eurons now swimming in front of Jon’s eyes. “I’ll come out with you, you look like you’re going to faint.”

“Thanks,” Jon slurs, stumbling to his feet and holding onto Euron’s offered arm. “Guess… had t’much…”

The cold air hitting his face when they step out of the door doesn’t bring the desired relief. Jon leans heavily on Euron’s arm, trying his hardest not to puke in front of a hot guy who seems to be decent on top of being hot.

“Sorry… I…”

Shit, Jon thinks with befuddled sadness as the world wavers a last time, and fades out. There goes his chance of getting laid. 

***

He wakes up shaking violently, despite being wrapped in a huge load of blankets. They’re nearly suffocating him, so Jon tries to sit up under them - only to give up again when he can’t lift his hand. What the actual fuck? His head is banging like a jungle drum, his mouth feels fuzzy and stale, his heart is beating a little too fast - oh dear gods. 

He’s either had a stroke - or has been roofied. The fact that his hands seem to be tied together speaks volumes for the second option though. 

With a huge effort Jon lets his hands glide to his chest - and sighs in relief when he feels the soft material of his jumper under his fingers. It takes a while for him to move his legs, but when he does manage, the reassuring friction of jeans against skin is the best feeling ever. Still, he doesn’t feel too well and he really needs a glass of water. 

“Finally awake, lovely Jon? I was starting to worry, it’s been nearly twelve hours.”

Ugh. Voice. Loud. Grating. Jon squints into the sudden brightness when the blankets are pulled from his head, trying to identify who the fuck this is. Before he knows it a strong hand in his back levels him into a sitting position and a large pillow is stuffed behind him. The sudden movement causes Jon’s stomach to jolt and he thinks he’ll throw up any moment - a glass of ice-cold, delicious water is held against his lips and he drinks gratefully. 

“There you go, feeling better now? Can’t have you vomiting over my guest bed.” 

Jon carefully turns his head, blinking at the man sitting on a chair next to the bed. Long hair, blue eyes, wide grin - slowly the events of the last evening start to filter back into Jon’s head and he remembers. 

“Euron, right?” Jon winces. His voice sounds like someone’s poured sand between his teeth. “Thanks for taking me in, man. I was totally out of it I guess. What’s with the cable binder?”

“Oops. My fault.” Euron grins at Jon, who gives him a disbelieving glare. What does he mean fault? Surely Euron will untie him now. But Euron shows no inclination to do so, his grin only widens. “You’re lighter than I thought, I got the dose slightly wrong.”

The dose? The - Jon goes rigid as the meaning of this finally makes it through the haze in his brain.  _ Euron _ has been the one who drugged him. And taken Jon to his home, wherever that is. And--

“Did you fucking  _ kidnap _ me?” Jon asks, incredulous. “Whatever for???”

“What do you think, my boy?” Euron asks, his smile growing sinister now. “To fuck you raw.”

Well, that’s - bad news? Jon tries to move his hands out of the restraints, without success. Why does he always get the psychos? The guy who’s been into bears, asking Jon to dress up as one, the girl who would always tell him he knows nothing whenever she came, the other girl who was into fire play - and not the fun kind - and now the kidnapper. Curse his bad luck!! 

“You wouldn’t have had to kidnap me, you know,” Jon informs his captor. “I would’ve come with you all voluntarily.”

“Really?” Euron seems positively delighted. “Aw, shame. But this way it’s more fun anyway. Having you at my mercy. Oh, Jon… the things I’m going to do to you…”

“Yeah?” Jon asks, starting to get angry now. Surely that psycho will soon come out with the Daddy thing. And despite his inclination for older men, that’s definitely something Jon’s not into. Okay, if Theon asked him to say it that’d be something different, he still wouldn’t like it but for Theon he would thi-- of fucking course! Theon! 

“How long have I been here?” Jon asks, writhing against his restraints again. They’re starting to chafe his wrists and he’s getting annoyed. “I have a flatmate who’ll be worried that I haven’t come home! He’ll call the police!” Not really, of course. Jon would bet his last shirt that Theon hasn’t actually realised Jon hasn’t come home. 

“Twelve hours, I told you.” Euron seems a little put out. “Aren’t you scared or something? I kidnapped you and intend to fuck you raw!!”

“Big words,” Jon mumbles, seriously getting angry now. What the fuck is this guy thinking, he can just hold Jon against his will - and by now he’s definitely not in the mood for getting fucked by this nutjob anymore - and scaring him with a few lame threats into frightened rigor? Guess. Again. “Untie me now, this is getting ridiculous.” 

“Untie you? Oh, my dear boy, the fun hasn’t even started!” Euron leans back in his chair. “Aah, the things I’m going to do to you… I bet you wonder why I didn’t start already, don’t you? I will tell you.” He grins, slowly moving his hand to his crotch. “It’s so much more fun when my toy can scream.”

Jon swallows, eyes fixed on the man’s hand starting to rub against a growing bulge. Oh fuck. This definitely isn’t a game anymore. Somehow this makes him more angry, instead of scared, and he starts looking around the room for a way out. The bed he’s in is shoved into a corner, and at the foot of the bed is a high dresser.

In Jon’s current state, hands and feet tied and weak from being drugged, he has no chance to make it over the dresser, or past Euron. Jon takes a deep breath, his eyes flickering to Euron, to the door and back. Euron notices, and laughs. 

“Finally got it, huh? You’re not going to get out of here before I’m done with you. And it’ll be a long, long time until I’m done with you.” Euron sighs deeply. “After I’m back from this stupid little party, very inconvenient but I have to show up for at least half an hour. Family, you understand. Let’s tie you up real nice until then, shall we?”

And after securely tying Jon - still too dizzy to fight him much - to the bed, Euron starts, in nauseating detail, to explain what exactly he is going to do to Jon once he’s back.

***

Theon looks at his watch. Half an hour until he has to show his face at the stupid Greyjoy Christmas thing, and still no sign of Jon. He’s been away the whole night, didn’t come home yesterday. Going to Castle Black for a couple of pints, he’d mumbled, and waved Theon off with a frown when he offered to come with him. Well, whatever, Theon had thought. He doesn’t like that bar at all, never properly heated and full of blokes depressedly staring in their beers. The barkeeper is funny though. When he’s not rambling about the end of the world. 

But now Jon hasn’t come home, and Theon is worried out of his mind. It’s not that Jon hasn’t stayed out once in a while, but not in a long time, and not without showing up at all the next day. Of course it’s possible he met someone and is spending the day at theirs, maybe they’re so good in bed Jon just forgot he has a life and a cat to feed. Theon throws the cat a glance. He’s fed Ghost, just to be sure, and now he’s lying on top of the radiator, lazily cleaning his thick white fur. Ghost doesn’t seem worried about Jon at all. 

But it really isn’t like Jon. What if he got into an accident? What if he was mugged? What if he got into a fight and someone’s beat him up? What if he was murdered? Theon tries to calm himself. No use getting hysterical now. Jon is an adult and probably getting really good sex right now, and as much as the thought stings Theon has to live with it. So of course he looks up the number of Castle Black. 

“Castle Black, Edd here.”

“Hey Edd, this is Theon. Greyjoy? I’ve been at your place a couple times with Jon Snow and his cousin.”

“I think I remember you. Skinny guy, chatting up everything with a pulse?”

“Yeah,” Theon grudgingly says, “that’d be me. Listen, did you see Jon yesterday?”

“Yup, he was here for about an hour before leaving with some guy.”

“What guy?” Theon asks, his heart sinking. Damn. 

“Tall, dark and handsome, I’d say. Bit creepy but Jon seemed to be into him. Listen, I have to open in a couple of minutes, was there anything else you needed?”

“No,” Theon says, biting his lip. “Thanks.”

He hangs up. Fuck. Well, at least now he knows that Jon is okay. More than okay probably. In the throes of ecstasy probably. Cursing loudly, scaring the crap out of the cat, Theon slips into his jacket and grabs his keys. Fuck Jon. He’s going to spend the minimum amount of time possible with his family and then fuck off to find himself a lay. 

***

Euron rolls his eyes as he pretends to listen to Aeron’s rambles. He liked him better when he was still a sad drunk shit, now that he’s found God or the light or whatever he’s unbearable. Vic is glaring at him from across the table - still not over that thing with his wife it seems - and Balon is just holding his kids a very grim, very idiotic lecture, probably about family honour and the family name and why aren’t they married and reproducing yet?

Euron can see Theon replying something that has Balon’s face distort in a disgusted grimace, then the boy slinks off, leaving his sister to entertain their old man. Poor Asha, Euron thinks. Well, better her than him. His gaze follows Theon through the room to the bar where he sits down, his shoulders drooping and his head hanging low. The barkeeper places a double scotch in front of him and Euron’s eyebrow twitches upwards. Oh? Someone’s in a very bad mood it seems. Time to play the concerned uncle. 

Without so much as an apology he leaves Aeron in the middle of his monologue about the joys of austerity and joins Theon at the bar. “I’ll take the same as him,” he says to the barkeeper, then turns to his nephew. “What’s wrong, little Theon? You seem out of spirits tonight.” Theon sighs, his normally grinning mouth pulled down into a sorrowful frown. Euron nearly feels sorry for him. He places his hand on Theon’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Come on, tell Uncle Euron, you’ll feel better once you got it off your chest.”

Theon takes a long draw of his scotch, then takes up one of the candy canes that are littering the bar. “I hate Christmas,” he mutters, looking up accusingly at the overload of christmassy decoration all over the room. “Stupid festive spirit my ass. Family my ass.” He turns his head to look at Euron with sad eyes. “Dad just reminded me of what a disgrace I am. Shouldn’t have tried to chat up the waiter.” 

Euron laughs. “Probably not. But hey, you’re used to this crap from your father. Why the sadface?” 

Theon shrugs. “It’s nothing. It’s ridiculous.”

“Tell me, boy,” Euron drawls lazily, “maybe I can help. I hate seeing you so down, and it’s Christmas.” 

“As if you care for Christmas,” Theon says sarcastically. “But for what it’s worth. You remember Jon, right? From the other day at the mall?” 

Euron nods, his thoughts wandering back to his apartment, to the very same Jon being tied to the bed, waiting for his return… 

“And you remember how you immediately guessed I’m into him?” 

Yeah, well… Euron grins to hide his sudden discomfort. He  _ had  _ actually forgotten that part. 

“He didn’t come home yesterday and I was worried and called his favourite bar, and they told me he left with some guy. There, that’s it.” Theon sighs, pulling a face. “Told you it’s ridiculous. I just - I was so worried when he didn’t come, and now that I know he’s just with someone else, I’m feeling part relieved, part devastated? I don’t know why, ‘s not as if I ever had a chance with him, but.”

“I thought you’re just horny,” Euron says slowly, a lot of thoughts spinning in his head. “This sounds as if you’re having serious feelings. Tell me, nephew - are you  _ in love? _ ”

“No!” Theon protests, waving his glass about. “No, I’m just - I want to be with Jon, okay? I want to have the right to stroke his hair when I want to. I want to fall asleep in his lap when we’re watching TV. I want to make him breakfast in bed.” He groans, letting his head slump forward until it meets the bar. “Fuck my life,” he mumbles, “I am in love with Jon fucking Snow.” 

“Excuse me,” Euron says, shoving his still full glass at Theon before getting his coat. He leaves without a goodbye to any of them, can feel all their eyes in his back, especially Theon’s. Outside it’s started to snow, but Euron doesn’t mind. The cool air is perfect right now, clearing his head.

He wanders down the street, past shops and cafes that are still open and blaring Christmas music. Lights everywhere, noisy and bright and merry and disgusting. Euron shoves his hands in his pockets. So what? It’s Christmas, not Armageddon, and despite everything that Aeron says Euron’s reasonably sure Judging Day isn’t upon them. He could just go home, undress his lovely, shiny new toy, slowly, savouring each bit of skin he reveals…

He’ll bite down on this pale, perfect skin until it’s covered in his marks, bruised and purple and tender, he’ll bury his hand in those lush curls and hold him still and slip his cock between those plump lips… Later he’ll take him in every position imaginable, making him scream until his throat is raw, plunge into him again and again until they both collapse with the intensity of their release… Euron has no doubt he can make the boy like it. They always do, in the end. 

He’s really perfect, that boy, almost too perfect to be spoiled, desecrated… He should be put behind glass, never to be touched, never to be ruined. Only loved. The thought makes Euron stop in the middle of the street, shocked to the core. What the hell is happening to him? 

“Could you spare some change for the Homeless, Sir?”

Euron looks down, at the girl talking to him. She’s smiling widely, missing several teeth. What must be her mum is standing a couple feet away, watching them attentively. Good gods, Euron thinks, now he’s talked to by charity assholes? They normally never dare!

The girl starts ringing her little bell and clanking with her bucket, obviously having a blast. “Poor people, Sir! They have no food! It’s Christmas tomorrow! Give me your money!”

“Alina!” the mother shouts, scandalized, but Euron only chuckles. “You picked an excellent moment, girl,” he says, reaching in his pocket for his wallet. “I’m in a very strange mood tonight, so take this, shut up and send me your CV when you’re old enough for a job.” With that he shoves the entire content of his wallet into her greedy little hands and pushes past her, nearly running down the street as fast as his long legs will go. 

There’s something in the air for sure. Sleigh Bells jingling. People laughing merrily. Theon’s face appears in his mind, so sad with his damn puppy eyes and his mouth drooping and his shoulders sagging and his heart broken and - oh fuck this shit to the deepest hell and back! Jon should be loved. Theon is in love. There’s a logical solution right there and all it takes is to get a move on and do something nice for someone else for once. And then forget he’s ever had this bout of selfless humanity, best with a couple bottles of Black Label.

***

Jon wakes up to Euron wrapping duct tape around his legs. He’s spent the first hour after Euron had left him thrashing and writhing and hollering, and generally tiring himself out so thoroughly he must’ve fallen asleep. Jon is pissed. At himself, mostly, for letting himself get roofied, kidnapped, and then being unable to get out. And now this - a strange thing to do, actually, now that he’s thinking about it. 

“I may be wrong,” Jon hisses, while feebly trying to kick Euron with his bound feet, “but isn’t this making the whole rape scheme a little difficult when my legs are all tied together like this?” 

“Oh shut up before I change my mind,” Euron grumbles. “Different plan. Some ghastly Christmas spirit must’ve fucked with my head and now I’m doing a good deed, alright?”

He lets go of Jon’s thoroughly duct-taped legs and proceeds to tape his arms against his torso. “I’m not going to fuck you, sad as this makes me. My nephew’s in love with you and for some reason I can’t ignore that and that means I can’t do with you what I want.”

Nephew? Love? What the actual fuck? Jon watches in disbelief as Euron slips into a Santa outfit he’s produced from somewhere - and then it clicks. The Santa. Theon’s uncle. Euron is Theon’s uncle. Theon’s uncle is Euron, the mall Santa. That’s why he seemed so familiar - his mouth looks exactly like Theon’s, only harder. And now he’s saying - what exactly? 

“I don’t get it,” Jon mumbles. “Theon? Theon likes me?” 

“Yes, he  _ likes _ you. Got that? And I’m in a very strange state of mind, apparently, because I decided to bring you back to him.” Euron’s face sours. “From your pretty little blush I gather you’re not opposed to him either, huh? Well, good for you. Ugh. Can’t believe I said that.” 

“And now you’re taking me home?” Jon still doesn’t get it. “Can’t you just untie me and let me go?” 

“I could, sure,” Euron muses, putting on his Santa hat. “But where would be the fun in that? And it  _ is  _ Christmas after all.” He looks Jon up and down, heaving a long sigh. “Pity, my boy. We would’ve been so good together. I think at least I should…” 

And with that he takes a step, bending over Jon lying on the bed, and claims his mouth in a fierce kiss. And damn, Jon knows he’s a madman and would-be rapist and psychopath and kidnapper and all that, but fuck this is a Santa he’d be on board with, no beard, no belly, just a very handsome, if batshit, man in velvet red, kissing like the devil. Thankfully, after a long, long moment, Jon does remember all the batshit stuff, and clamps his teeth firmly down on Euron’s tongue. He yelps, drawing back with a startled look on his face - and laughs. 

“Perfect together, just what I said. Oh, the fun we could’ve had…”

“The fun we could’ve had if you hadn’t decided you need to roofie me,” Jon grumbles. “Can you get me home now please?”

***

Theon’s woken up from his alcohol-induced coma by an almighty crashing sound coming from the living room. Slowly getting up, for a moment not even sure where he is, Theon staggers out into the hallway. Ugh, definitely too much scotch yesterday. After he’d drank his own AND Euron’s, he’s had two more to drown out his father’s slurs while puzzling over uncle’s strange, urgent departure. 

Theon stumbles into the living room, fumbling for the light switch - and there’s Jon. Jon, taped up from his legs to his chest, his eyes burning with anger and a huge red bow sitting right on top of his head. 

“Okay, I’m dreaming,” Theon says out loud. This causes Dream-Jon to wriggle and make muffled noises, and suddenly Theon realizes that this isn’t a dream at all, it’s real and Jon is tied up and sitting under the plastic tree Theon has bought this year. Hurriedly he rushes over, ripping the tape covering Jon’s mouth off. And wishes he hadn’t.

“YOU STUPID BLOODY OAF THAT HURT ARE YOU MAD HAVE YOU NEVER SEEN TAPE REMOVED IN A MOVIE MY MOUTH IS ON FIRE AND THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT BY THE WAY CAN’T YOU HAVE A NORMAL FAMILY I SWEAR I WILL CALL THE COPS ON THAT PSYCHO GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF THIS!!!!!!”

“Knife,” Theon stutters, and races over to the kitchen unit, grabbing the first sharp thing he finds. In a second he’s back, kneeling down next to Jon and cutting through all the tape - and that’s a fucking lot of tape. “Jon, what on earth happened to you?”

“ASK YOUR FUCKING UNCLE HE KIDNAPPED ME AND ONLY LET ME GO BECAUSE HE THINKS YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH ME AND HE FUCKING ROOFIED ME I SWEAR I WILL KILL HIM!!!!!”

“Please stop screaming,” Theon says weakly, his head pounding like mad. “I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

By now he’s managed to get Jon out of his tape-cocoon, he drags him up and, when Jon sways on his feet, walks him over to the couch. Jon is breathing heavily, face red, mouth redder from the tape, eyes promising murder. Theon absently notices he’s shaking so he goes to get the blanket from his bed before turning to the kitchen to make Jon tea. 

When the tea is done Jon still hasn’t said another word, still breathing like a steam train, but at least he’s not shouting anymore. Theon presses the cup in Jon’s hand and sits down. On the chair, not next to Jon on the couch. Better be safe if he flies into rage again. 

“Okay. Now from the start. Who kidnapped you? What was that about my uncle? Which one? And roofies? Jon, do you need a doctor? Hospital?”

Jon shakes his head, gripping the cup tightly. “Tag,” he says, all fight having left him now. “Somewhere over there.”

Theon follows his gaze to the mountain of duct tape littering the floor - and the red bow that has fallen off when he’d ripped the tape off Jon’s mouth. He goes to get it, finding a Christmas tag attached to it, and reads:

 

_ Dear nephew,  _

_ I hope you like your Christmas present. Should you decide you don’t, send him over, I’ll take care of him for you. But seeing as he’s into you - I haven’t touched him, I swear. All yours.   _

_ Merry fucking Christmas (what an asshole holiday) _

_ Love, _

_ Uncle Euron _

_ PS: Should your new boyfriend think of calling the police on me, I’d be very unhappy. Just saying. _

 

Mouth agape, Theon stares at Jon, who shrugs underneath his blanket. “Thanks, I guess, for telling your uncle you’re into me.” Jon pouts. “That true?” 

Slowly, Theon nods. Jon relaxes back against the cushions, closing his eyes. 

“Good. Great. We can talk about this later. Oh fuck!” He sits up, clutching the blanket around his chest. “I need to feed Ghost and clean his box!” 

“All taken care of,” Theon says, still too confused to flip out. He knows he will, and then police will be the least of Euron’s problems (Asha. Theon will send  _ Asha _ ). But right now - Jon is here, Jon is relatively okay and apparently Jon is into him. It’s like a fucking Christmas movie and any second now they’ll hear sleigh bells and ho ho ho. 

“Huh,” Jon says, his face softening into a smile as his eyes fall shut again. “I really like you, Greyjoy. You don’t have a Santa suit perchance, do you?” 

Theon walks over, this time sitting down next to Jon, carefully taking his hand. “Uh… Merry Christmas?” 

Softly, Jon starts to snore. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, in case anyone wonders, they spend the whole holidays cuddling (no Santa costume, sadly)  
> Jon is adamant he's not traumatized, but Theon still decides to take it slow. 
> 
> Euron now has a restraining order not to come near Jon - not enforced by the Police, but by Asha (she was very... forceful... one could say)
> 
> Two years later, uncle Victarion tragically dies and there's a big funeral/party/reunion at Pyke. Theon wants to take Jon, finally presenting him to his family as his official boyfriend.
> 
> But that's a whole different story/can of worms.


End file.
